


The Ciel Diaries

by eecmidford



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AU, F/M, cielizzy, cielxlizzy, our!cielxlizzy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eecmidford/pseuds/eecmidford
Summary: 13-year-old walking disaster Ciel Phantomhive's life is basically burned to ashes when he finds out he's a prince. How's he supposed to run a country when he can't even tell his childhood best friend how crazy he is about her? And what do do about this smarmy "Sebastian" guy sent to be his trainer?! It's a royal pain, and SO not appreciated. (Princess Diaries AU/Cielizzy)





	1. Part 1

~~Monday, September 3, 4:02 p.m., the loft~~

I’ve got to write fast, so that Dad doesn’t see I’m actually using the diary he gave me last week. “So you can just…let those feelings out, you know?” he said when he gave it to me, _totally_ early in the freaking morning, in his _underwear_. “Things are changing, and…well, I’ll let you get back to sleep now.”  
GOD. Like, my dad’s cool and all, but… _uuuggghhh_.

And things aren’t really changing _that_ much. Besides the, uh…bi thing.

Okay, maybe that’s a really big change. Yeah, my dad’s suddenly figured out he’s bi, and wants to date, of all people, my…  
…

Oh. My. God. I can’t believe I’m writing this.

If I don’t write it, does that mean it isn’t really true?

HEELLLLLLLPPPPPPP.

Okay. Phew. Deep Breaths. You can do this, Ciel.

MYDADISDATINGMYSCHOOLPRINCIPAL.

All right. Now that I see it in writing, it’s not… _that_ bad, right? I mean, Dad and Headmaster Diedrich, holding hands…going to movies…eating breakfast…doing it…

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fine, I admit it. I definitely need a place to let these feelings out. But that place is SO not a diary. It’s a freaking MENTAL INSTITUTION.

~~Tuesday, September 4, 10:30 a.m., Gifted and Talented~~

Sieglinde and Lizzy are being totally insensitive about it. Sieglinde was all, “but now you have an in with the principal! He’ll write you a recommendation to any college you want!” and Lizzy just thought it was “super cute” that my dad was “finding himself” and “just being him.” Then Mr. Knox made us all shut up so he could take attendance.

“Attendance,” my ass. There are only ten people in this class, so Knox doesn’t even read out names—he just counts us and then goes back to his desk to look at J. Crew and car catalogs while the rest of us do whatever the hell we want.

Lizzy uses class time to work on her giant _Sailor Moon_ fanfiction. She’s been writing that thing since we were about six, and I think we’re all equally curious and terrified to read it. Technically, she’s supposed to get a gym pass so she can practice her fencing. If her mom knew she was up here writing fanfic instead…let’s just not even think about it.

Sieglinde is supposed to be tutoring me in Precalc, but really she works on her own personal projects while I sit around and listen to Macmillan and Soma yammer on about nothing. Actually, the only people in the class who actually do what they’re meant to are that book nerd Clayton and his friend Cheslock, who annoys us all with his stupid violin. “Gifted and Talented” is such a misnomer.

Then Soma’s like, “oh my God, Ciel, your aunt’s on the Internet!” and he and Macmillan and Lizzy and Sieglinde all crowd around his laptop and make a huge deal, like Aunt An isn’t on the Internet all the time anyway. She lives in Cattalia, this random country near France, and is some kind of important person in their government. Whatever. Since my mum died and Dad decided to move his stuffed animal business up to England, I only see her when I go down to the Chateau for the summer. I don’t even care.

“It says she’s coming to London today!” Lizzy squeals, and I do a literal double take, like a cartoon character, and I’m like, WHAT??!!

Because when my aunt comes up to London, as rare as that is, she should TELL me, right?! I’m her NEPHEW. She always says I’m like a son to her. I bet Dad knows, and probably Headmaster Diedrich (ugghh), so why shouldn’t I?

“’Madame Durless says she has some important private business to attend to soon after she lands,’” Sieglinde reads. “That must mean you, Ciel! Oh my God, she’s going to make you move to Cattalia!”

“NO!!!” scream Lizzy and Soma together. Lizzy jdfakjnnlRI’ADSLKF e

~~Later, English~~

Lizzy tackled me and started crying, so I had to throw my journal down real quick and stash it under the desk with my foot. At that point Clayton started yelling at us for being loud. Then Edward started yelling at Clayton for being such a tightass, and Cheslock came out of the closet (LOL) and started playing arpeggios super loud to annoy them, and at that point Mr. Knox had to step in and threaten us all with Y’s. All because of my stupid Aunt An. God, she ruins everything.

Anyway, how bad would it really be if I had to move to Cattalia? I mean, I wouldn’t have to deal with Soma or Macmillan anymore…Edward wouldn’t be able to try and beat me up…no more stupid Precalc and stupid Latin and stupid Chemistry and…

Who am I kidding? Life would be just as bad in Cattalia. I would still be a skinny, one-eyed, bitch-faced prepubescent (I’m thirteen, for God’s sake. Can I get just ONE TINY growth spurt???) with stiks for limbs and just one working eye. My mum would still be dead. My dad would still be dating a guy who once gave me a week’s detention for calling him an Ugly Lard-Tank. Lizzy would still be my “best gal pal” and not my girlfriend, and I’d still be stupid, slow and untalented. Plus, there would be the added issue of…

Well, I don’t even want to think about _him_ right now.

~~5:13 pm, grotesquely fancy men’s bathroom at The St. George Hotel in London~~

HELLLPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPPPPPPPP

IS THIS HOW I DIE????? AM I ALREADY DEAD AND THIS IS HELL??????

Seriously. I know I can be…well, okay, I can be a total brat. And mean. And borderline sadistic, according to my dad and my teachers and the school psychologist. But I DO NOT DESERVE THIS.

SERIOUSLY.

Wednesday, September 5, 1:00 a.m., the loft

I can’t sleep. And it’s crazy to even think this, but I just got this weird feeling that I might be able to eventually if I just grow some balls and write down what happened earlier, once and for all, in as much detail as I can manage without becoming suicidal.

So by the time school let out, Aunt An was in the city, so of course I had to be forced down to the St. George Hotel in her god-awful limo so I could have high tea with her and her horrible butler, whose name I don’t even want to write down.

Oh, God.

I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t write it, will I?

Okay, FINE. His name’s Sebastian.

And I _hate_ him.

Anyway, I was feeling stupid having such a fancy meal in a fancy place with fancy people, when I’m just in my school uniform, when I noticed Aunt An was looking at me really weird. So I was like, “what did I do now?” because I thought maybe I’d used the wrong fork or something, and she just welled up with tears all of a sudden and put her hand on top of mine like we were in a freaking soap opera. And then I looked at Sebastian and HE was staring down at me all smug, like he _knew_ something about me, you know? And then I totally started to panic.

“Ciel, honey,” Aunt An began in that gross voice she only uses when she’s just got done watching _Design Star_ on HGTV, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“No way,” I said under my breath.

“You know how I was sick all last year, and then I had to go in to have surgery?”

“Yeah. But you’re fine now.” I picked up this weird biscuity-looking thing and tried to eat it without letting her or Sebastian see just how shaky my hands were.

“Well, hon, the cancer was…um, in my special girl parts, if you know what I mean. So the surgery I had to have was. Ahem. Um…”

You know how in cartoons, when someone realizes something really crazy, their eyes suddenly get all wide? Well, I literally _felt_ my eyes widen, just like that. And I also started choking.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I can’t have kids now. And that’s especially bad for me, because. Um.” She took a really dramatic breath. “Ciel, I’m the queen of Cattalia, actually, and this makes you my closest living heir, so…”

I didn’t hear exactly what she said after that, because I was choking so badly that Sebastian had to come stand behind me and do the Heimlich maneuver with his filthy, white, sarcasm-encrusted gloves, and I ended up ejecting a half-eaten pastry from my throat all the way across this fancy-pants dining room. Luckily, it landed on the floor and not on someone’s table. But still, like, _everyone_ saw.

“What?” I said, still coughing a little. I was all sweaty too, and little tears were coming out of the corners of my eyes.

“You’re a prince, Ciel. Or, I should say, His Royal Highness Ciel Vincent Durless Phantomhive, Prince of Cattalia.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I died for a second or two? Or at least stopped breathing. Then I was like, “SHUT. UP.” And I started crying for real. That’s when I ran into the bathroom.


	2. Part 2

~Thursday, September 6, 1:19 pm, notes from Precalculus~

**CIEL!!! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

Lizzy. I’m literally failing this class. I can’t afford to be passing notes with you right now.

**But it’s so crazy!!!!!!!! You’re a PRINCE!!!! Why didn’t you tell me??????**

Because I didn’t know. And I really, really don’t want to talk about it.

**I KNEW you were hiding some big secret! Soma and I just thought it was that you had a secret twin whose identity you stole after his soul was eaten by a demon you accidentally summoned while being tortured by an occult secret society that kidnapped you after the fire.**

...What?? Lizzy, I swear. How do you guys even come up with this stuff???

**I can be your date to the fancy balls and parties and things, right? Pleeeeease???? I’ll do all your homework for you!!!**

Sure, whatever. Just don’t embarrass me. Aunt An is making this Sebastian guy “train” me to be a prince, and he’s pretty much the ACTUAL devil. So if you make a single mistake in public, I’m screwed.

**Aww! I’m sure he’s not that bad!**

Lizzy, he made me write an essay on my core values, and then he TORE IT UP. Without even reading it.

**He sounds just like all your other teachers.**

Hitting me where it hurts? Gee, thanks.

**Sorry :(**

_Hey hey, guys! What’s up? Lizzy, you hear the news about Ciel?? We’re ROYALTY BUDDIES NOW!!!!_

**Yeah! I get to be his date to all the balls! Isn’t that amazing?! It’ll be just like being a princess!**

WHOA. Soma, just because we both have annoying bodyguards and stupidly long names does NOT make us “royalty buddies.”

_Annoying?! Your bodyguard is so cool, though! It’s too bad the school wouldn’t let him bring his snakes in!_

Yeah, he’s not much use without them. They’re his only weapon.

**What’s his name again? Snape?**

“Snake.” That’s all I know. He wants to be called Snake.

_LOLOLOLOL that’s so precious!!!_

I suppose that’s one way of putting it…

**Anyway, I’m sorry about the core values! I’m sure it was a really good essay.**

_You wrote an essay? OMG! I want to read it!!!!!!!!!_

N. O.

_Ok :/_

**So are you guys still coming over tonight? Edward won’t be there, don’t worry.**

I guess so. As long as Sebastian doesn’t kill me at our “lesson.”

_You just let me know if Sebastian bothers you, and I’ll send Agni to kick his ass!!!!_

**MR. SPEARS ALERT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.  
I will not pass notes in class.

~Later, Limo coming from St. George~

Well, today sucked. That man is a literal demon, and no one can convince me otherwise.

So I came in and the first thing he says, before even “hello,” is, “you look like a pimp. Go and change immediately.”

?????!!!!!!?!!!

And I’m like, “um, I don’t actually carry other clothes around with me?” And he just said to go into the boudoir and “Nina will take care of you.” I had to sit there for two FREAKING hours while this insane woman named Nina bustled around changing absolutely everything about my appearance, down to even my EYEBROWS. I didn’t even know guys _got_ their eyebrows shaped. And her assistant, Mey-Rin, was _filming_ the entire thing for _YouTube._ It was totally humiliating.

So now I have this weird, bluish-grayish hair coloring that’s supposed to “bring out my eye" more than my natural plain black color. And speaking of my eye, I was also given a sack—yes, an entire SACK—of designer eyepatches. _I didn’t even know that designer eyepatches were a thing._ There are shiny ones, silky ones, monogrammed ones, velvet ones, bejeweled ones…it’s ridiculous. And I have to wear MAKEUP. Not that much, but…well, even “not that much” is too much for a guy. Powder and mascara. And concealer for any potential acne. Luckily Nina deemed my eyelashes long enough that I don’t need a false one (God, can you imagine). I’m not allowed to wear my Converse high tops, either. I have to wear loafers, even though technically any black or brown shoes are allowed with our school uniform.

I wiped off as much of the makeup as I could, but you can still see the mascara and the eyebrow job, and since Nina threw my one normal eyepatch down the incinerator chute, I’ve had to settle for wearing this gross velvet one to Lizzy’s house. I wanted to get out of going so she wouldn’t see me like this, but then when I turned on my phone I had this barrage of texts from her:

_CIEL I’M SO EXCITED FOR TONIGHT WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK_

_CIELLLLLLL COME ON HOW LONG IS A PRINCE LESSON ANYWAY_

_????????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_OMG SERIOUSLY THOUGH ARE YOU OK_

_CIELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

…So it’s kind of obvious that I have to go over there, right? It’s not because I  _like_ Lizzy or anything, it’s just because otherwise she’ll think I’m dead.

~9:10 pm, the loft~

That.

Was.

Horrible.

Seriously, I would go through like, ten more hours of Prince Lessons per day, if that's what it would take to erase what just happened.

I walked into the Midfords’ super-fancy living room, and there were Lizzy and Soma playing some video game, and of course they both started yelling and hugging me like I’d come back from the dead or something, and I have to admit it was kind of nice. I mean, my dad’s great and all, but he’s never gotten _that_ excited when I come home at the end of a long day. Lizzy was the first to notice my new “upgrades,” and if you can believe it, she actually said they looked really cool. And Soma said I looked like I should be in a boy band, which is terrible of course, but I know he meant it as a compliment. And then….Sieglinde came in.

She had been in the bathroom, and when she wheeled her way out she totally looked like she’d been hit by a truck. She just said, “oh…my…God.”

Soma was all like, “I know, right? He looks so awesome!” which was completely the wrong thing to say, because Sieglinde FLIPPED. OUT.

“Oh. My. God,” she said again, and then, “Ciel, you look like a darker-haired Maurice Cole.”

Now, I know I look ridiculous, but comparing me to Maurice Cole was still totally uncalled for. He’s this super creepy kid in the tenth grade with shoulder-length blonde curls and eyelashes like a foot long, and he follows this Edgar Redmond guy around like a freaking puppy dog. We would all feel sorry for him, except that he’s also super mean and almost got expelled last year for bribing some mega-smart middle schoolers to do his homework for him. Every time he sees me in the hall or in gym class, he gives me the once-over and is like,  _“fr-EAK.”_

So you can kind of see why I got pissed when Sieglinde said I looked like him.

“I didn’t _ask_ to look like this, okay?” I kind of snapped. “I don’t _want_ to look like Maurice Cole, just like I don’t _want_ to take Prince Lessons or have my picture in the freaking newspaper or rule a goddamn European country. And between my dad dating the school principal, my totally flunking Precalc, and Sebastian breathing down my neck and calling me a pimp all afternoon, I think I’m having a hard enough time without my so-called _friends_ saying I look like Maurice Cole, okay? So _lay. The hell. Off.”_

Lizzy and Soma kind of stood there all wide-eyed, and Sieglinde just kept scowling at me like she wanted to tear my stupid blue hair off my stupid head, and _then_ (why, God, WHY??!!) the rest of the Midfords just _happened_ to walk through the door, back early from their opera. Mrs. Midford gave the same serious, but kind, nod that she always gives me when I come over, and Edward glared at me like he wished I would die (seriously, could I have only one person glaring at me at a time? I don’t think that’s too much to ask), so at least those two were acting like their normal selves. But Lizzy’s dad, on the other hand…

“Why, hello, friends of Lizzy! Good to see you, as always!” Mr. Midford said, all smiley like he usually is, and went around hugging Soma and Sieglinde, and then he turned to me and was like, “oh, and I see you’ve brought a new friend…wait, _CIEL?!_ ”

That was IT for me. I grabbed all my stuff and just stormed out. So that’s how I ended up spending the night completely alone in my room like a total loser, playing Halo and listening to endless MCR.


	3. Part 3

~Friday, September 7, 2:14 p.m., limo on the way to the St. George for hell class~

“MY CORE VALUES: AN ESSAY BY CIEL PHANTOMHIVE”

(Sebastian ripped this up, but unfortunately for him I had an extra copy on my computer. LOLOLOL SUCK IT LOSERRRR)

Core values are an important thing for a person to have, because they keep you from making bad decisions and becoming dumb stuff like strippers and ice dancers and fanfiction writers. I have three main core values, and they’d better be good enough for you, Sebastian, because I have better things to do than sit around writing and rewriting essays for your elitist ass all the freaking time.

Core Value #1: Inscrutability. I looked this one up, and it basically just means having a really good poker face. This skill is extremely valuable to me because it lets me annoy people AND get what I want most of the time, which are two of my favorite things. For example, there was this one time that Soma was trying to get me to say that I like Lizzy (which I SO don’t—I mean, she’s super cute and pretty and awesome and stuff, but she’s like a sister to me, and the fact that she makes my face and hands sweat a ton and my insides curl up and attack each other like little tiny rival gangs means NOTHING, right? Right). So I just made my face a literal piece of rock and stared at him until he gave up trying. By doing this, I killed two birds with one stone: 1. I annoyed Soma, which is always fun, and 2. I got him to leave me alone, which is what I wanted. So that’s why inscrutability is one of my core values.

Core Value #2: Detachment. I like to care about as few things as possible. My dad accuses me of doing this to try and be “cool,” but really it’s just so that nothing will upset me. I believe that if you do a really good job pretending not to be upset, you actually will stop being upset. Take that time my house burned down and my mum died. I didn’t cry once. Of course I was upset, but I think I was a lot LESS upset because I was able to get really good at Detachment. (My therapists disagreed, of course, but screw them.)

Core Value #3: Intelligence. If there’s one thing I hate even more than school, mainstream culture and Maurice Cole, it’s stupidity. Actually, I think the reason I hate all those things is BECAUSE they’re stupid. Like, the other day Maurice was making fun of my Beats—like, what??? They’re _really good headphones_ , okay? If he’d rather listen through those lame earbuds of his just because they look cool, even though his music will sound considerably less full-bodied, then that’s just stupid. But hey, the guy listens to Taylor Freaking Swift—what can you do?

Anyway, those are three values that are important to me as a person. The end, whatever.

 

~Saturday, September 8, 5:00 p.m., the loft~

I got this really weird message today. Not like a text message, or even an email, but like, a _legit_ message. On a card. And the card had a kitten eating a strawberry on it. It said:

_"Roses are red,_   
_Violets are blue,_   
_You probably don’t know it_   
_But I really like you."_

**?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????**

Someone is totally out to get me. I mean, first I find out I’m a prince, and that my dad is dating Headmaster Diedrich, and I have to spend my afternoons being coached by a _literal_ demon from hell, then my best friends dump me, and now this person actually thinks they can get away with this…this…HARASSMENT???!!!

I’ll bet it’s from Soma. This seems just like one of his “fun” little plans to get me to Cheer Up. Besides, the meter doesn’t match up. It’s a sucky poem. This card has got Soma Kadar written all over it. So I’ve written him my own little “card” in the form of a picture of a buffalo carcass DM’d to his Insta with the following caption:

"Blood is red,  
Corpses are blue,  
Just like you’ll be  
When I get ahold of you."

I know, I know, my meter doesn’t match up either. But an eye for an eye.

~11:20 p.m., the loft~

Oh yeah, I totally forgot to mention Sieglinde’s new project. She’s mad because the bathrooms at Weston are just for Males and Females, so she’s trying to raise money to get like a hundred porta potties to set up on the school grounds for all the non-male/female students. She’s roped Lizzy and Soma and Macmillan and some other jellybrains into it, too. They’ve got this table set up right in front of the bathrooms in the cafeteria, and it takes up the entire walking space there, so if anyone wants to go to the bathroom they have to donate something to the “cause.” Three kids have already wet their pants because they couldn’t afford to pay. It’s terrifying.

I guess this just goes to show that when Satan closes a door, she opens a window: If it weren’t for Sieglinde saying I look like Maurice Cole, I would’ve had to help out with this Toilet thing.

Oh, and Soma hasn’t responded. But GOD, what I would give to see his face when he sees it!!!

~Sunday, September 9, 3:32 a.m., the loft~

So, Soma DM’d me back:

 **@princesomaakadar:** Ciel!!!! What is this??? This is horrible?? Why do you want to get ahold of me??? And why the dead buffalo?? You KNOW how much I love buffaloes!!! This is the meanest thing ever plz respond!!

And I responded:

 **@cielphantomhive666:** Uh. First of all, since when do you “love” buffaloes? I thought you were all about elephants…anyway, your card was not appreciated. Like, I get you’re trying to be a good friend or whatever without upsetting Sieglinde, but I was super offended. I don’t need a fake Secret Admirer in order to help me feel better about my terrible life.

 **@princesomaakadar:** Secret Admirer? Card? Wha????

 **@princesomaakadar:** I so confused…

 **@cielphantomhive666** : Wait, so you didn’t stick this thing in my locker?

(Then I sent a picture of the card.)

 **@princesomaakadar:** No, but WHOAAAAAAA!!! CIEL YOU STUDMUFFIN!!!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** NO, SOMA. NOT STUDMUFFIN.

 **@princesomaakadar:** Why are you upset? Someone’s in love with you!!! GASP OMG I bet it’s Lizzy!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** WHAT?! Don’t even joke about that!!

 **@princesomaakadar:** Come on, it’s so obvious you guys like each other!! Aw, I bet you’re blushing so hard right now!!!!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** SOMA. STAY ON MESSAGE. WE HAVE GOT TO FIND WHO SENT THIS!!!!!

 **@princesomaakadar:** "Elizabeth Phantomhive" is such a poetic name!!! And she’d be a princess, just like she’s always dreamed of!!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** THAT’S IT. I’M OUT.

_@cielphantomhive666 has gone offline_


	4. Part 4

~3:46 p.m., the loft~  
I’m so tired. Honestly, the only reason I’m even writing right now is so that I won’t conk out and end up late to this dumb Fancy Dinner that Sebastian has set up. It’s a “practice” Fancy Dinner for me, so when I have to go eat with diplomats or something I’ll know how to act. Apparently, if I use the wrong fork or tip the soup bowl the wrong way, I could disgrace the country of Cattalia for eons. Whatever.

It’s going to be, like, three hours long, and Dad and Aunt An and, of course, Sebastian himself are all going to be there judging me. And it’s not even the kind of dinner where there’s dessert at the end. I mean, these snooty-ass “jelly wursts” and “cucumber trifles” and “muffle smoots” are NOT what I call real dessert. Just saying.

Thank god Headmaster Diedrich isn’t invited. If he were, I think I would actually poison myself.

~11:15 p.m., the loft~  
Okay. That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. That is to say, it was TERRIBLE, but considering my anxiety-ridden brain had been preparing me for some kind of Armageddon...well, it could have been a lot worse.

I could have died. And I didn’t. So that’s something.

Let’s start with the food itself. The best stuff there were the breadsticks, but of course, when I took a second one I got totally SMACKED in the back of the head by Sebastian. And that guy hits HARD. Like, I literally saw stars. And, okay, so what if I want to grab my bread like a normal hungry person and go NOMNOMNOM?? Is the future of European politics really going to go up in flames because one prince happens to be really into breadsticks? I say, if they want me not to take seconds, they should tell their chefs to stop making such damn amazing breadsticks.

Dessert was actually pretty good, too. It was this vanilla cake, all moist inside with strawberry filling and whipped cream and fruit on top…not to be straight up crude, but that cake made a certain part of my body do a certain thing it has only ever done during Lizzy’s hugs. (But that’s not because of Lizzy, of course, it’s just because her hugs are so…warm. And I guess she smells good or whatever. What can I say, the kid’s just really good at hugging. But anyway…)

So I’m eating this cake and Sebastian comes up behind me and leans down so his face is right by my ear (like, hello, personal space please?) and he’s like, “Your Highness seems to be enjoying the cake I made.”

It took all the strength in my mouth muscles not to do a spit take. So I swallowed and just said, “Sebastian, aren’t you a butler? Nice try, but I know butlers don’t bake.” You see, I thought this was some weird kind of pop quiz, like he was seeing if I knew the roles of the various members of the royal staff.

But then Aunt An piped up and said, “Ciel, honey, has Sebastian not baked for you before? Oh, he is so cheeky sometimes!”

And my dad was like, “yes, Sebastian’s a wonderful chef! He’s been sending stuff over to us for years—he’s made all your birthday cakes since you were six!”

Is it really weird that I could actually FEEL Sebastian smirking next to me, even though I was making a point not to look at him? Who am I kidding—my whole life is weird.

The conversation finally moved on, and once in my life, I was actually relieved to hear my dad and aunt going crazy over my Grades and my Extracurriculars and my Social Life and what all that means for my Future. They literally have the same conversation in a loop every time they’re together, so I could easily just tune them out.

It goes something like this:

Aunt An: "Vincent, I checked your local newspaper and found Ciel’s name on the Honor Roll list again. You must be so proud of him!"

Dad: "Yes, even with his terrible maths skills, he was somehow able to pull through. It’s his history and language grades that really save him—the boy just has a knack for the liberal arts! Such an intelligent, well-organized mind, just like his mother. (Cue the obligatory Misty-Eyed Gaze Into Nowhere.)

Aunt An: "I remember when he was little…well, littler at least, and always built those elaborate, impeccably planned-out cities and castles with his toy blocks." Completely brilliant!"

(Sebastian actually snorted at this.)

Dad: "And yes, he’s still struggling with the depression and anxiety, but he’s made some wonderful friends—a very nice young man by the name of Macmillan, and a budding scientist named Sieglinde, and Prince Soma Kadar from India, of course."

Aunt An: "And Darling Lizzy? I do hope he’s still friends with Darling Lizzy! She’s such a lovely girl!"

Dad: "Elizabeth? Of course, yes, she’s always around! Practically attached at the hip, her and Ciel! They’re such Good Friends."

(That “Good Friends” really punched me in the gut. I don’t know why.)

I was actually kind of having fun with this—making it a game to see if I could guess what Dad or Aunt An was going to say next—when I realized everyone was staring at me. Apparently Aunt An had been saying my name over and over and I hadn’t noticed. Sigh.

So I kind of jumped and was like “What?” And Sebastian pinched me HARD (did he used to be in the military or something???) and said “Your Highness, that is not how we address our elders. Do you not remember our lesson from this past Tuesday?”

Side note: I should ask Sebastian how he can smirk and talk at the same time. It seems to me that’s a skill I could actually use to do some good in my life.

“Oh, it’s all right, Sebastian!” Aunt An laughed, reaching over to grab his bottom. (!!!!!!!!!!) “I was just suggesting that Ciel take Darling Lizzy to that dance coming up at his school! The Fall Flamenco or whatever it’s called!”

My heart kind of went around in circles when she said that. The Flatfooted Fall Fandango is this big formal dance that happens every September 21st to mark the beginning of autumn. It’s totally lame, which of course means Lizzy’s OBSESSED with it and has been looking forward to it since, like, third grade. I think she had her dress picked out by the start of middle school. If I’m remembering right, it’s seafoam blue—a perfect choice, since blue will set off her green eyes so well…I’m just saying.

Anyway, Dad totally burst out laughing and said “I hope she wears low-heeled shoes, then!”

I kind of seethed, because, yeah, Lizzy is like three inches taller than me. But that’s just because girls grow faster than boys!

Sebastian stifled a laugh with his fist and replied, “or perhaps our young prince here should wear high heels.”

OHMYGODIHATEHIMSOMUCH

Dad’s coming in now. I ---------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but I promised one of the lovely people in the comments that I'd have it up by the end of the week, so...I did my best!!!
> 
> Chapters will be coming slower now, since I'm starting a new job tomorrow. Give me 2.5-3 weeks for the next one. Thanks for being patient! :) :) :)


	5. Part 5

~Monday, September 10, 11:30 p.m., the loft~

ANOTHER weird love letter. Dad just came in and handed it to me. This time, it’s on this pink paper that I swear was sprayed with some kind of flowery perfume. I opened it to find a card with a picture of two cats on it. The cats are lying on top of each other, but not like they’re doing it, like they’re just…I think the term for it is “snuggling?” Or maybe “cuddling?” (Note to self: Ask Lizzy if there’s a difference between “snuggling” and “cuddling.”) It says:

Roses are red,  
Even redder than ham.  
I hope you do well  
On the Precalc exam!  
Love,  
Your more-than-friend! Xoxo!

Okay, I’m officially pissed off now.

 

~Tuesday, September 11, 3:06 p.m., the loft~

Well, today was a treat.

I don’t really know what to think now. It’s…well, it’s not bad, of course. Actually, it’s pretty good. But, like, in a weird way? All right, I’ll just cut to the chase.

So I had written the quadratic formula on the inside of my loafer and got caught looking at it during the test. (I couldn’t study because of that stupid formal dinner, of course, and even so, what insane teacher even expects us to memorize that bloody mess??? Mr. Spears, that’s who. The man is like a freaking grim reaper or something.)

Anyway, Spears was like, “Mr. Phantomhive, what is so interesting about the inside of your shoe?” Luckily, I don’t think he actually saw the formula.

But then Maurice was like, “Check it out! Phantomhive’s got a foot fetish!” And I didn’t even care, like, it was such a stupid, ridiculous insult that I just assumed no one was going to take it seriously.

But then Lizzy went completely _insane_ and yelled “WATCH WHAT YOU SAY ABOUT CIEL!” and _threw Maurice to the ground and started punching the life out of him_. Everyone went wild—Soma was whooping and clapping, Macmillan was screaming, Sieglinde nearly fell out of her wheelchair doing some kind of war dance, and all I could do was just sit there like…????!!!!

Because, well, not to be sexist, but Lizzy…well, she wears a lot of pink. And she likes Sailor Moon and stuffed animals and cupcakes and the musical _Wicked._ She’s not exactly a “beating people up” type of person. I mean, I know she takes fencing classes, but that’s just because her mom makes her. I didn’t know she was actually, like, a total badass.

Anyway, there was blood all over Maurice and his face was already black and blue, and students from other classes were peeking their heads through the door trying to see what all the fuss was about. Some were laughing, some were cheering, but most just looked kind of grossed out.

I was afraid Mr. Spears would go ballistic or something, but all he did was check his watch, sigh heavily and tell Lizzy and me to go to the Headmaster. He sent that Harcourt guy to the nurse’s office with Maurice, and then rolled his eyes and mumbled something about overtime and cleanup and “even more blood than Grell’s and my honeymoon,” and then just went back to teaching. He’s a weird guy.

On our way out of the room, I noticed Maurice’s phone was still on the floor. I guess it was just such a good opportunity that in the moment I couldn’t not take advantage of it, you know? And besides, I figured I owed Lizzy at least a bit of help in humiliating that creamy-haired bastard. So I kicked that phone straight to the wall, where its screen shattered into pieces. It felt great.

 

But not quite as great as seeing Lizzy defend me like that.

 

~6:30 p.m., limo on the way back from the St. George~

Unfortunately, being grounded doesn’t exempt me from Prince lessons. Sebastian gave me…

…wait for it…

A _DANCE LESSON_ today.

Seriously, can a guy not catch a break? But that wasn’t even all. When he was finally done having me make a complete idiot of myself (with HIM as my “dance partner,” no less!!!), we sat down to tea and he said to me, “Your Highness, I can’t help but notice that there seems to be something troublesome on your mind.”

I nearly spat out my tea. “You mean, besides the fact that I had to dance the waltz with a forty-whatever-year old man all afternoon, right after getting detention _and_ being grounded because my girlf- I mean my FRIEND beat up a guy who was making fun of my shoes?”

Sebastian frowned. “I am _not_ forty. And I only gave you a dance lesson in the hope that it would give you the confidence necessary to make an appearance at this Fall Fandango your aunt spoke of.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time. I probably wouldn’t have gone to the dance even if I weren’t grounded.”

“Are you sure of that, Your Highness?” he smirked. “Not even if you could go with that young lady I heard such lovely things about…Missy, I believe her name is?”

“Lizzy?!”

“Ah, yes, Dizzy. Of course.”

“ _Lizzy_. And…no. I mean, she—we—I—yeah, probably not. Like, just…”

“You’re turning red, Your Highness.”

I slammed my cup down so hard it nearly cracked. “Lizzy and I have been _friends_ practically since we were born. If I asked her out, she would make fun of me for the rest of our lives.”

“Make fun of you? Now, why would she do that?”

What does he think he is, a therapist?!

“I don’t know! She just would, okay? Stop being weird!” I said, a whole lot louder than I meant to.

But the thing about Sebastian is, he has this way of getting into my head. The rest of our lesson and the whole time I’ve been writing this, for some reason I can’t stop thinking about Lizzy. These pictures of her keep popping into my head, like little reminders of all the times she did something cool or funny or weird. Like that history report she failed last year because she said the Titanic “could” have had zombies on it. And the time when we were ten and she flushed my favorite ring down the toilet because it didn’t match the Tuxedo Mask costume she wanted me to wear. (It may not sound like a big deal, but trust me, you don’t get a gumball machine ring like that every day.) And that one Easter when she somehow was able to hide an egg _on top of_ our gigantic church steeple without breaking any limbs.

One year on Halloween, when we were really little, this older kid in a bear costume started chasing us and trying to take our candy. So Lizzy and I hid behind a fake tombstone in someone’s yard and just…kind of held each other until the big kid was gone. I don’t know why I remember this—it was so long ago—but I liked that Lizzy’s Wonder Woman tiara was digging into my neck. Even though it hurt, I didn’t want her to move. I wanted her to stay close, for some reason. When I woke up the next day and looked in the mirror, I was sad that that little star-shaped mark had disappeared from my skin.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m okay with being grounded and having detention, if it means being reminded every day of how Lizzy cared enough about me to beat someone up. Does that mean I like her, like in that way? Or does it just mean I need to get a life?


	6. Part 6

~Wednesday, September 12, 11:18 a.m., G&T Class~

So, this morning I woke up to find Headmaster Diedrich, in his underwear, leaning against MY kitchen counter while eating Lucky Charms. That is something I can never un-see.

Oh, and instead of eating only the marshmallows like any normal person, he was PICKING THEM OUT and eating just the regular brown cereal. Seriously, Dad? I mean, who would date a guy who doesn’t even know how to eat Lucky Charms properly? Geez. I’d like to think my father would have better standards.

~6:21 p.m., the loft~

Today’s Prince Lesson has left me with a lot to mull over.

Okay, that was a gross exaggeration. Today’s Prince Lesson has actually left me wanting to die.

First, I get there and Sebastian says, “get back in the limo, Your Highness. We’re going out.”

And I’m like, okay, cool. It might be nice to get out of the hotel for once, and who knows? Maybe Sebastian will actually show me something cool, like one of those forensics museums Dad will never let me go into because he thinks they’ll “corrupt me” (as if I’m not corrupted enough already).

Oh, how wrong I was.

We pulled up in front of this really fancy apartment building, not quite as fancy as Lizzy’s, but still, like…damn. And I’m still holding out hope for some reason that this might actually be fun, like, well, maybe we’re visiting some diplomat or royal from another country. Maybe they’re quiet and un-patronizing and can tell me once and for all whether Sieglinde’s right about the cats.

(Sieglinde once told me that the real reason we’re not allowed to hold our Doomed Souls Club meetings in the supply closet at school is that the janitors keep cats in there for the government. But it makes no sense—even if the government would _want_ to hire them, Bard and Finnian could never take care of even one living animal. They can barely even keep our school clean. But anyway.)

Sebastian led me up to the penthouse (of course) and knocked on the door. Then the tsunami happened.

It wasn’t a real tsunami, of course. It was Lizzy and Nina. Together. Which, come to think of it, is probably worse than a tsunami. I ended up on my back with my eyepatch around my neck and my one eye lolling around like a golf ball in its socket.

“What? Wha- what. _What?!_ What. Whaaaa?” I said very calmly.

Sebastian chuckled. “I took the liberty of inviting your friend Dizzy to attend our clothes fitting today. As she’s your date to the Fandango, after all, I naturally thought the two of you should coordinate your ensembles. Have I made a blunder, Your Highness?”

 _“C-c-clothes fitting?!”_ I choked.

“Yes, for the dance, of course!” said Nina.

Lizzy picked me up off the floor and squeezed my cheeks rather roughly. She didn’t seem grossed out by all the scars on my right eye, which was a relief at least. “Oh, Ciel, I knew you’d let me go with you! Sebastian called me up and told me you were too shy to ask me yourself, but why? We’ve known each other _forever_ , Ciel, you don’t have to be embarrassed! And I _know_ you won’t like this at all, but hear me out—I think we should do a sort of butterfly theme, like a little one in your boutonniere, so it’s still manly and stuff, but then _my_ dress has all sorts of butterflies everywhere, mostly pink ones of course, with sparkles, and then perhaps some in my hair and in my corsage too? You’re getting me a corsage, right? I mean, it’s all right if you don’t, it isn’t the 1880s after all, but I’m just asking because I want to be totally prepared.” She spun me around and squealed. “Oh, Nina! His eyepatch should be a butterfly, too! Or is that too much?”

“Anything for my two favorite customers!” Nina said, winking right at me. I fixed my eyepatch nervously.

“Come on, I have to show you the suits Nina and I had in mind for you!” Lizzy said, dragging me into the parlor. She shoved a framed picture into my hands—it was a quite bad drawing of me wearing a light blue suit with seersucker lapels and, yes, a butterfly in the boutonniere. “I designed this one myself!”

“It’s, uh. Beautiful, Lizzy,” I said, handing the picture back to her and wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants.

“Now, I have Lizzy’s measurements, but not the Prince’s,” said Nina, “so I’ll get those quickly, and in the meantime Lizzy can try on this lovely number here!” She handed Lizzy a wad of blue fabric that, I’ll admit, was a perfect color for her—Lizzy has these strikingly, almost aggressively bright green eyes, so light blue complements them especially well.

Lizzy squealed and danced in a circle. “It looks just like Cinderella’s!” she said, and ran into the next room to change. Meanwhile, Nina chattered about this dumb Victorian Gothic drag show she went to, where one of the drag queens spit up blood onstage and it was supposedly "artsy" or whatever. Something nagged at my brain when she said “Victorian,” but I ignored it. Then Lizzy came back in.

She really did look like Cinderella—she’d taken her hair down and put on these lacy gloves that went up past her elbows. But instead of glass slippers, she had on a pair of gold flats with little ribbons that laced up her ankles like ballet shoes.

Then I suddenly remembered something TERRIBLE. There was another reason I was feeling disoriented this morning—the same reason I freaked out a little when Nina started talking about her fashion show. I had a dream last night, a horrible dream… _about Lizzy_. We were standing knee-deep in water, and I was wearing high heels while she stood in front of me in a blue Victorian dress, you know, with all these petticoats and a corset. And then I suddenly jumped at her and, like, totally ripped her dress off. Then she started crying and I woke up.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODDDDDDDDD

I like Lizzy. I do. Sebastian was totally right, that bastard. He was so. Totally. Right.

And that was when I stopped breathing.

~Thursday, September 13, 2:15 a.m.~

Lizzy just left. She came over a bit after I finished that last entry, with a “care package” and a face that was red and puffy but no less beautiful. She’d been crying because of my asthma attack.

Oh, yeah. When I said I stopped breathing? That was an asthma attack. Yeah, I didn’t die and come back to life or anything, though that would be cool. It was actually a good thing in the end, because I got to leave Nina’s apartment and come home and sleep and watch TV and eat cake and not do homework all afternoon. And, of course, worry about that _thing_ I realized earlier, you know, about what I apparently feel for Lizzy.

I feel a little better now. It had been a while since Lizzy and I hung out alone, just the two of us. She was really gentle and quiet for a change, and didn’t try to tackle me or ask any intrusive questions, and we just ate candy and played video games and talked for hours. Dad didn’t bother us once, either. For all his faults, I’ll admit he can be pretty cool sometimes.

Lizzy told me not to worry about Sieglinde; that she still likes me but is going through a “rough time” right now.

“Because she got in trouble for trying to organize a walkout to protest the bathroom thing?” I asked. Because, yeah, that did happen. Luckily, someone pulled the fire alarm just in time (“someone” = my bodyguard, Snake. “’Desperate times call for desperate measures’…says Emily”).

“Yes and no,” Lizzy sighed. “She got cross at me the other day at lunch because I said you were taking me to the dance.”

“Cross at _you?_ ” I said. Normally, Lizzy is the one person Sieglinde _never_ gets angry at. They’re basically soul sisters.

Lizzy nodded. “She’s afraid no one is going to ask her to the dance on account of her wheelchair and genius brain. So Soma said he would be her date, if she wanted. Then she got cross with  _him_ and stormed out. She knocked over a trash can with her wheelchair and got detention, too. It was awful.” She teared up a little at this, but luckily didn’t actually cry. “But then Soma and Macmillan and I came up with a _brilliant_ plan.” She brightened and looked right at me with those mesmerizing green eyes. I accidentally looked at her lips, and then both our little avatars on the screen got shot at the same time and died.

“So what’s your brilliant plan for Sieglinde?” I asked after we finally resurrected our characters.

“Oh, right! It’s Edward!” Lizzy said. “Edward’s going to ask her! He’ll make a big deal out of it, too, with flowers and chocolates and all that. We’re also stuffing the ballot box so Siggy will get to be Fall Fandango Princess—I’m class president, you know, so I can probably manage it.”

She really amazes me—Lizzy loves being class president, but she could get sacked for doing something like that. And she’s still going to try it, just because her friend is upset. “What if Clayton finds out?” Clayton is president of the senior class, as well as the entire student body.

“Clayton Schmayton,” she shrugged. On screen, her avatar started convulsing and spinning like it had a mouse in its dress.

“Lizzy, what are you doing? Are you even trying to help me beat this Boss?” I said, watching her shake her controller back and forth.

“I want her to Caramel Dance,” she said matter-of-factly. I leapt to her side of the bed and grabbed her controller just in time to help her dodge an attack. My hands were on top of hers. Her fingernails were lavender with little silver stars.

“Ci- _ellllll!!_ ” she said, pushing me aside playfully. She took a gummy shark from the care package and stuffed it in my mouth.

After swallowing the candy, I almost told her about the anonymous love letters I’ve been getting. I don’t know why I didn’t.


	7. Part 7

~Friday, September 14, 10:27 a.m., G&T~

My GOD, can people not shut up about the stupid Fandango?!

You can’t even walk anywhere in this goddamned school, what with all the dramatic “Asking” ceremonies going on. Someone will be kneeling, or breakdancing, or conducting a jazz band or some BS like that, and it causes _major_ traffic jams. Basically everyone’s been late to classes so far today.

I guess Edward hasn’t asked Sieglinde yet, because she’s been scowling down her microscope since she got here. I don’t think she’s even examining anything—the plate beneath her looks empty.

Actually, most everyone in G&T looks sort of pissed today. Clayton just erased something in his notebook so hard he ripped the paper, and he didn’t even bat an eye. Normally, if he saw someone else treat a notebook so roughly, he would, like, strangle them. And Cheslock’s been playing these super aggressive double-stop exercises on his violin, and nothing else. Even Mr. Knox seems subdued—he’s napping under his hat, which he usually only does the day after a _Say Yes to the Dress_ marathon.

Only Lizzy seems totally over the moon, as if she’s carrying everyone else’s happiness for them or something. Instead of working on her fanfic, though, she’s drawing dresses. Geez, she’s already filled about half her notebook. All her designs are green, for some reason.

She just looked at me. I

 

~Sunday, September 16, 7:59 p.m., the group chat~

 **@princesomaakadar:** Hey, Ciel! Whatcha doin?

 **@cielphantomhive666:**  Soma, how many times have I told you how annoying that question is?

 **@princesomaakadar:** HAHAHA I bet you’re salty because I interrupted your writing love poems about your dear dear Liiiiizzzzzzzyyyyyyyy!!! Lol!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** SOMA CAN YOU NOT???? GOD!!!

 **@themightymacmillan:** What’s going on? Ciel, why’re you all mad at Soma?

 **@cielphantomhive666:** (here I sent some pictures of creepy clowns to get them to shut up)

 **@themightymacmillan:** CIEL!!!!!

 **@princesomaakadar:** Geez, Ciel, what was that all about?

 **@cielphantomhive666:**  What’s with all the questions, guys, it’s like…the Spanish Inquisition or something.

 **@misslizzymiddy:** NO ONE EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!!!!!!!!

(Great. Lizzy’s here. Just great. Better hope she doesn’t scroll up and see what Soma wrote.)

 **@princesomaakadar:** LOL hey Lizzy! Face it Ciel, you walked right into that joke.

 **@cielphantomhive666:**  Yeah, whatever.

 **@misslizzymiddy:** Did you guys see how Herman Greenhill asked Lawrence Bluer to the Fandango? It was soooooo cute!!!!

 **@themightymacmillan:** YES!! In the art hallway after third period, where he wrote “will you be my bookworm?” on a cricket bat? It was so adorable!!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** Greenhill? Isn’t he a little too…you know… _beefy_ to be asking someone to a dance?

 **@themightymacmillan:** Beefy?

 **@princesomaakadar:** Beefy?!

 **@misslizzymiddy:** BEEFY???!!!!

 **@cielphantomhive666:**  Sigh. Forget I asked.

 **@misslizzymiddy:** Ciel, no one is ever “too” ANYTHING to publicly express their love for another human being. That’s, like…not a thing.

 **@princesomaakadar:** Yeah, Ciel. It’s not a thing.

 **@themightymacmillan:** It’s not!

 **@cielphantomhive666:** Does anyone have anything of actual importance to say?

 **@misslizzymiddy:** Always So you know that goth girl Beast? Well, she asked her punk friend Joker to the dance and he said yes too!!!

 **@princesomaakadar:** GASP! She finally got him! I’m so happy for her!

 **@misslizzymiddy:** Yeah, but…I think he thinks they’re going as friends.

 **@themightymacmillan:** OH NO!!!!

 **@princesomaakadar:** Poor Beast! I’ll have to pray for her later! Maybe I’ll send her a card, too. Or some curry. Hmm.

_@cielphantomhive666 has gone offline_

I just couldn’t take it anymore. They all seem so…you know… _happy_ or something. And it’s not that I’m _un_ happy—more like, I have _too_ many feelings at once. Lizzy and Soma and Macmillan, all they feel are “happy” and “sad.” I wish my feelings were that simple.

Wait, who’s texting me? Lizzy?!

 

~8:10 p.m.~

It wasn’t Lizzy after all. It was Soma.

**Ciel! Why’d you leave? U ok?**

Um…yeah? I just wanted to be left alone.

**Oh, all right. Want to talk to me about it?**

Sigh. Soma, I KNOW you’re fluent enough in English to know what “I WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE” means.

**Yeaaahhhh, but I’m also fluent in Ciel-speak, so I know that when you say that, it actually means “I’m sad and I need a friend to vent to!”**

…No. Literally, no.

**So is it the Fandango thing? Are you sad that you weren’t brave enough to ask Lizzy in a cute way?**

_WHAT???_ I swear, Soma, how do you even come up with this stuff?

**Well, I used to think I was psychic, but then Agni told me I’m just really good at empathizing with others. He says I can read body and face language and voice cues without even realizing it! Isn’t that the coolest?!**

Soma. This is the INTERNET. You can neither see my body nor my face, and you can’t hear my voice either.

**LOLOLOL you’re right! OMG I must be psychic over the Internet too! I’m going to go tell Agni! Brb!**

Um. Okay?

 

~Monday, September 17, 3:30 p.m., the limo~

So, I checked my email…

**To: cielphantomhive666@westonhigh.ed**   
**From: edwardbrotheroflizzy@westonhigh.ed**

**Ciel, I swear to God, whatever you’re doing to my little sister has GOT TO STOP. She doesn’t listen to anyone or pay attention to anything. She SASHAYS and TWIRLS everywhere, which would be super adorable except I’m afraid she’s going to slip and FALL and CRACK HER HEAD OPEN. And it’s all because you asked her to that stupid Fandango and BUTTED into our FAMILY and RUINED EVERYTHING. I’d rather see Lizzy go out with a freaking ORC than with the likes of you, you know that? I just want you to know, I’ll BE at that dance with that girl Sieglinde, and she and I will be WATCHING YOU. If you lay a HAND on Lizzy, so much as a FINGER, I will twist your neck like a Twizzler until your head comes OFF OF YOUR TWIGGY LITTLE BODY. I’ll KILL you, do you understand? KILL. YOU.**

**Sincerely,**   
**Edward Midford**

**P.S. You’d better not look at her for too long either. I mean it.**

I only _wish_ that were the last upsetting email I received today.

**To: cielphantomhive666@westonhigh.ed**   
**From: notmyrealemail@gemail.com**

**Lilies are white,**   
**And so is the moon.**   
**I’ll see you at the dance real soon!**

**Love,**   
**Your anonymous more-than-friend! XOXO!!!**

WHO????????????? IS?????????? THIS????????? PERSON??????????

 

~6:42 p.m., the loft~

Okay, that is IT. **IT,** I tell you! After EVERYTHING, all that’s happened to me, he pulls THIS?! Sebastian, are you FREAKING KIDDING ME???!!!!!

I mean, granted, I DO need more problems in my life, for sure. Like, it’s not as if my dad brings my school headmaster home every night, so they can watch Breaking Bad in their boxers together and eat ALL THE CHINESE FOOD during my Prince lessons so that the only thing left for me to eat later is the plain white rice.

And it isn’t like the girl I’ve apparently been in love with for the past, like, ten years without knowing it has permanently labeled me as a “guy-pal,” leaving me _no_ hope of romantic reciprocation whatsoever. No, of course some _other_ person decides to fall in love with me, but do they come out and say it like a NORMAL person? NO! They tell me in the form of _creepy, cryptic, basically BAD love poems sent through the most archaic of communication forms._

But is that all? Are those the only setbacks in this sweet little life of mine? Ohhhh, no. My _other_ best friend, Sieglinde, hasn’t spoken to me in almost two weeks. Maurice Cole seems to think of me as his own verbal punching bag, I’m failing Precalc, I’ve got a demonic royal butler _torturing_ me daily at my prince lessons, and oh yeah! I almost forgot—I’m a PRINCE.

And _now,_ when I feel like I’m about to literally DIE from the stress of it all, he springs THIS on me.

A television interview.

A LIVE television interview.

With world-renowned fashion model-turned-television personality Grell Sutcliff.

And it’s the _same night as the dance._


	8. Part 8

~Thursday, September 18, 4:07 pm, the loft~

I just woke up with a thought.

The most horrible, awful, mind-blowing, frightening, worst thought ever.

The person who’s been sending me those dumb love poems? I think it’s Sieglinde.

 _God,_ it just makes so much sense. It would explain why she’s been avoiding me, and why she got so upset when Lizzy said I was taking her to the dance. And I know for a fact that she’s almost as bad at writing as she is amazing at science—so if she were to write poetry, it would TOTALLY be something like that horrible “roses are red” crap.

Oh my god. Sieglinde loves me.

My BEST FRIEND, Sieglinde Sullivan, loves ME.

SIEGLINDE LOVES ME.

And this means I have to tell Lizzy BEFORE SHE CAUSES HER BROTHER TO GET REJECTED BY A FRESHMAN!!!!!!!!!

 

~4:30 pm, the loft~

All right, I’m doing this. I’m going to Lizzy’s to tell her about Sieglinde.

 

~5:12 pm, the loft~

Ok, now I’m really going to do it. I’m going to Lizzy’s house. I’m going to stand there in her bedroom and tell her that our best friend Sieglinde is in love with me.

 

~5:56 pm, the loft~

God, who am I even kidding? I CAN’T TELL HER. Knowing Lizzy, she’ll tell Sieglinde I know, right? And Sieglinde will be mad at me forever? Either that, or Lizzy’ll try and set me and Sieglinde up at the dance, and Sieglinde will get the idea that I like her too, and she’ll probably kiss me or something, and then I’ll have to date her, and I’ll never even have a single chance in hell with Lizzy, and I’ll have to fake my death probably, and HOW DO YOU EVEN KISS A PERSON IN A WHEELCHAIR?? BEND DOWN?? THAT’S SO AWKWARD!!!

 

~6:20 pm, the loft~

Lizzy’s coming over. And I kind of destroyed my phone screen. I also might have to go to therapy again because my dad heard me scream in frustration and throw my phone against the wall when it buzzed.

 

~Wednesday, September 19, 4:15 a.m., the loft~

So, I guess I should explain—I didn’t text Lizzy first, she texted me. Turns out she’d wanted to show me the picture of the dress she’s having Nina make for Sieglinde for the dance, but then she heard about my interview with Grell Sutcliff (which, ugh, I’d almost completely forgotten about, what with all this Love Letter confusion) and wanted to “congratulate” me. So of course there was a lot of hugging and squealing and “Oh my god, what will you wear?!”

And— _AND_ —apparently Grell Sutcliff and Mr. Spears, our Precalc teacher, are MARRIED?! Geez, the more you know.

I told her that Nina was probably going to pick out my outfit for me, with Sebastian’s insight, of course, and she looked a little disappointed but dropped the subject. Then she told me that Edward had asked Sieglinde this afternoon and that she’d said yes. And I just knew that I couldn’t say anything about the letters. I guess Sieglinde’s given up on me—so there’s one less thing I have to worry about.

But then it hit me—here’s _Lizzy,_ standing right here in front of me, in my _own room_ , and oh. My. God. Why have I never appreciated her this way before? The way she’s always smiling, and not just with her mouth either—it’s like her entire _self_ is one big smile. And why have I never, in all these years, realized just how kind she is? And how funny? And actually pretty smart, despite her childish interests? And how those big green eyes just draw me in and trap me so that I end up staring at her in open-mouthed silence for almost a full minute while she goes “Ciel? Ciel?! CIEL!” and eventually reaches out and fishhooks me with both hands? And instead of being grossed out like a normal person, all I can think is “wow, Lizzy Midford’s hands are in my mouth. I’m so lucky.”

Good Lord. I just read what I just wrote, and…

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????????????????????

And now, because after bringing us pizza and cookies, and because he secretly hates me, my dad said “Lizzy dear, I called your father and he said you can stay overnight,” she’s sleeping in my bed. And I’m on the floor in a sleeping bag because I’m afraid if I get too close to her I’ll accidentally touch her and, like, hurt her or something. Because even when she’s asleep she’s so beautiful, but when I look closely at her face I can see that her smile is gone, and she’s twitching and mumbling like she’s having a bad dream, and her knuckles are bright white as she holds her stuffed Bitter Rabbit way too tightly. It scares me, I guess, that even Lizzy can be that upset. And I hate that I’m too afraid to do anything about it. I mean, even as a friend, shouldn’t I be able to comfort her?

 

~6:18 am, the loft~

I made her non-caffeinated tea and brought her two leftover cookies, and I kind of prodded her super lightly until she woke up. And she said she was okay, but I don’t think she was because she put her head in my lap and said, “Ciel, you’re happy, right?” but then went back to sleep before I could even think of how to answer.

So now the sun is rising outside and I still haven’t slept even a little bit because, like, what if she has another nightmare? Or what if I snore? Or fall on top of her and suffocate her? She’s still in my lap, and I’m having to write with my journal held up in the air so I don’t disturb her (which is why my handwriting is so bad). But I’m going to stop now. Lizzy’s hair is a special kind of therapy, and I think I want to run my hands through it one more time. Just once, I swear.

Okay, twice. But no more.


	9. Part 9

~5:30 pm, the limo~

After Lizzy went home, I slept till…well, about fifteen minutes ago. I WOULD still be sleeping, if it weren’t for you-know-who calling about the you-know-what.

(You-know-who = _SEBASTIAN._ )

(You-know-what = _THE INTERVIEW._ )

Here’s kind of how it went down:

 **Dad:**  "Ciel? Your aunt’s butler is on the phone for you."

 **Me (still asleep):**  "Wphuph?"

 **Dad (shaking me):**  "Ciel! Don’t be rude!"

 **Me:**  "Tell him I’m dead."

 **Dad:**  "Sebastian, my son says to tell you he’s dead."

(Pause)

 **Dad (handing me the phone):**  "Sebastian says Nice Try."

So that’s how I ended up with an EMERGENCY PRINCE LESSON, RIGHT NOW.

Maybe if I stare at the limo’s gaudy red carpet long enough and think Hateful Thoughts at it, I can make it catch fire. Hmmm…

 

~10:46 pm, the loft~

So, I wasn’t able to commit arson. Bother.

But at least my eyebrows are freshly waxed and my nails professionally filed for tomorrow.

Oh My God, I’m going to die.

 

~Friday, September 21, 10:32 am, G&T~

I can _not_ believe they made me go to school today.

There’s a kind of gross, juvenile excitement in the air here. Mostly it’s because of the dance tonight, but in this room? Everyone's going on and on about my stupid interview like it’s the freaking Warped Tour. Lizzy brought me _flowers,_ for God’s sake. Soma made me this weird card with a badly drawn god or goddess (I seriously can’t tell) on it, that apparently he and Agni prayed over all last night. Macmillan gave me a full-sized Hershey bar, which was more appreciated than I will ever allow him to know. Even Sieglinde mumbled a “good luck, Ciel” to me on our way into the room.

(So is she still in love with me or not??? I’m so confused.)

Now Clayton’s standing at the front of the room trying to lecture us all about the Alexander Technique—God help us.

“Let’s use Harcourt as an example here, shall we? Phantomhive! Get your head out of that journal for once! I’m giving this lesson for your benefit, after all. Now, see how Harcourt has his feet placed exactly shoulder width apart and a perfect right angle from his elbows? Now lay back, Harcourt—Cole, move your sushi, for Christ’s sake!—and let’s all try the deep breathing we discussed earlier. Remember the ancient Greek mantra— _Phantomhive! Pay attention!”_

“Lay off him, Clayton! Damn!” Cheslock calls, sticking his head out of the closet. “He’s nervous enough already!”

“But the point of the Alexander Technique is to become _less_ nervous, which you would have learned earlier had you been paying attention. It’s all about awareness, see, and—“

“The Alexander Technique is a bunch of rubbish if you ask me,” says Sieglinde. “I prefer the Scientific Method, myself. It’s not just useful in the lab, you see. Everything we do is science in a way. I suggest that Ciel form a strong hypothesis concerning what he believes is the specific cause of his anxiousness—then _simulate_ the circumstances of performance anxiety with heavy breathing and exercise (get up a nice sweat, you know? To practice for all those lights blaring down on him), then try calming himself down with deep breaths or happy thoughts, or, I dunno, that Screamo music he likes. And just see what works!”

Whoa. Sieglinde is _talking._ About me! Not _to_ me, but still, this is a total step up.

Clayton is looking NOT happy about being contradicted. “Well, fine then, he can apply the Alexander Technique to the Scientific Method. But Phantomhive, I would absolutely not recommend listening to Screamo music right before your big interview. You may find it therapeutic under normal circumstances, however, those heavy beats and blood-curdling profanities will increase your heart rate at such an extent—“

“Oh my _g_ _od,_ can everyone _please_ shut up?!” Lizzy practically screeches. “Look how upset he is! He’s bending over that journal like it’s about to swallow him! And the back of his neck is all red!”

I am getting very uncomfortable with this conversation. God, I hate G&T.

 

~6:10 pm, dressing room at the freaking TELEVISION STATION~

My hands are shaking so hard I’m surprised I can even write. The lights are way too bright here and everyone’s smiles are too big, and it’s _so_ freaky. Also, my phone’s been buzzing like, every three seconds, but after the first twelve “good luck” texts from Lizzy, nine from Soma, five from Macmillan and even one super short one from Sieglinde, I just felt too queasy to answer. The only reason I haven’t been sick yet is that I’ve also been too nervous to eat for the last twenty-ish hours.

This just proves that I’m not cut out to be a Prince. Hell, I’m not even cut out to be a _person._  What if when I screw up out there, Lizzy doesn’t like me anymore? And what will Sebastian do to me after I (inevitably) make a complete idiot out of myself on camera?

Oh my god. They’re ready for me. Goodbye, world. And good riddance.

 

~8:30 pm, the school bathroom~

I hightailed it in here as soon as the limo pulled up. I don’t think I’ve run that fast in my entire life—I’m still practically hyperventilating. Never thought I’d say this, but…good thing I’m small. I ducked under reporters and elbowed my way through the crowd of cameras and clipboards like nothing you’ve ever seen. It’s the only thing I’ve done right tonight.

I know I sound like a broken record by now, but this time it’s true:

MY LIFE IS OVER.

I screwed up. SO bad. I mean, obviously I knew I was going to screw up _some_ how, but believe me, I _never_ saw this coming. I’m so humiliated, I should just die.

It actually didn’t start out too bad. Grell Sutcliff is hella annoying, but at least she didn’t ask any intrusive questions…yet. The first thing she asked me was what it felt like to suddenly become world-famous overnight. (Wow, Grell. So original.) So I figured, if all the questions she asks me are _this_ dumb, there’s no way I can do that bad, right?

Wrong. Oh, so very, very wrong.

It wasn’t until after the first commercial break that things started to go south. For one thing, by then I’d been sitting in that sweltering hot studio for what seemed like days (Sieglinde was totally right about the lights), and the first drops of sweat had started running all the way down my back and…well, you know. And of course, it’s the outfit I knew I was going to wear to the dance right after, so I started panicking about sweat stains and how on the off-chance I actually get up the courage to ask Lizzy to dance (and somehow manage not to spontaneously drop dead in the process), she’ll think I’m, like, a total troll for having sweat stains all over my shirt, and also, you know, smelling. And the thought of all this just made me sweat more.

Then the cameras come back on and Grell says, “so, Prince Ciel, what’s it like knowing that your father and your school’s headmaster are an _item?”_

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How did she _know?!_ Dad and Headmaster Diedrich aren’t even Facebook-official yet!

“Uhh…uhhhh…” I said, sweating.

Grell cackled, flicking her crazily long red fingernails across my shoulder. “It’s ah- _dor_ -able, isn’t it? Though not surprising, of course—for a man his age, your father is still…” She took a deep breath. _“Hummina! Hummina!”_

By this time, needless to say, I was even redder than Grell’s sequin-covered business suit. I made the mistake of peeking backstage, where my dad was—wait for it—LAUGHING! He actually thought this was FUNNY!!!!

“So are you happy for them? Excited? _Appalled?”_ Grell asked me, flashing her weirdly pointy teeth in a smile.

“I’m. Uh…” I said. “Yeah, happy! I’m totally happy. Or…yeah.”

Grell threw back her head and guffawed. “Isn’t he a _scream,_ ladies and gentlemen?!”

Then the whole studio audience, and presumably millions of Brits watching at home, cheered and clapped. And I don’t know if it was the lights, or the heat, or the excitement, but something must have addled my brain in that moment right then, because for some reason I decided, well, that there are probably much worse things to be than “A Scream.” And so I found myself smiling and waving at the audience.

_I KNOW!!!! **ME**!!!!!!!!!_

So by the time everyone finally calmed down, I was feeling kind of pumped, you know? Or, if not exactly  _pumped,_ I was at least thinking more like, “well, I guess this might not go so terribly after all?”

I shudder at the naiveté of my one-hour-ago self.

One might ask, “but Ciel! How could it _possibly_ get any worse than a famous TV personality, who is also the spouse of your horrible maths teacher, asking you live on her evening program what you think of your dad dating your school’s headmaster?!”

Well…

“Now, Prince Ciel,” Grell simpered, “we’ve discussed your father’s _rollicking_ love life, which has been _completely_ delightful, of course. But _now,_ it’s time to discuss yours! So, what about it, dear? Are there any other young people that send your little heart tap-dancing? Or, perhaps, some _older_ people?”

I swear she winked at the audience when she said that.

And of course, I was like “… _older_ people? Why would she say _that?”_

And then it happened.

“We’ve had some fans tweeting us some _interesting_ images,” Grell continued. “Images…like _this!_ ” She waved her hand proudly to the screen behind us, and I, oh so mistakenly, turned to look. Until now, the screen had been emblazoned with the words “GRELL SUTCLIFF’S SEVEN O’CLOCK NEWS ORGY!” and an uncomfortably large image of Grell herself, grinning and holding a whip. Now, it had been replaced with a picture of me and Sebastian…

_Doing It._

Or, I mean, we weren’t _actually_ Doing It in the picture. It was definitely implied, though. It was a grossly OBVIOUS photoshop of Sebastian on top of me, smirking, while I made some disgusting “come hither” face. Our faces didn’t even match the skin tones of the naked bodies they’d been cropped onto. I think the only reason I didn’t hurl right there on live television is that I was just so shocked. And also, you know, cause I’d hardly eaten anything.

I snuck a glance backstage and saw my dad in a chair, head in his hands, shaking. I honestly still don’t know if he was crying or laughing. Sebastian was standing like a statue, his face livid. I have never been more terrified of him than in that moment, I’m dead serious.

“Oh, dear! By the look on your face, Your Highness, it seems you aren’t aware of the extensive fanbase surrounding the alleged _taboo activities_ going on between yourself and your private tutor, Sebastian Michaelis. ‘SebaCiel,’ they’re calling it!”

“I…I…I…” was all I could say. Sweat was actually pouring into my eyes.

Grell changed the picture. This time, I was photoshopped onto what was obviously the body of a teenage girl wearing lingerie. Sebastian was holding a whip.

“What do you have to say for yourself, you naughty, naughty boy?” Grell said.

“I…it’s…it’s not!” I stammered. “It’s NOT TRUE!”

Whoa. I didn’t realize it at first, but I had yelled so loud that the people laughing and hooting in the audience actually shut up for the most part. Even Grell’s smile tightened a little.

“Oh?” she said. “But the evidence is all here! Oh, well, I suppose that means gorgeous Sebastian is single! Hear that, ladies? If I weren’t married already, I’d give that tall slice of black licorice a night to remember!”

“Will you shut up?” I cried, standing up. For some reason, I was no longer shaking. “These pictures are obviously photoshopped, and photoshopped _badly._ And there is NOTHING going on between Sebastian and me. I _hate_ Sebastian. You want proof? You bring him out here and I’ll punch him in the face! He deserves it for torturing me countless hours every afternoon. And if that’s still not enough proof for you, you slimy pornographic grim reaper of a fake reporter, here’s another little nugget of wisdom for your stupid TV show: I already have a girlfriend. You hear that? I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, AND HER NAME IS _LIZZY_!!!!!!!”

 _God,_ why didn’t I just cut out my tongue before going onstage? Better yet, in the delivery room where I was born, why didn’t the doctors just cut my tongue along with my umbilical cord?

I didn’t even look at Dad and Sebastian as I ran backstage. I just ran, still blinded by a steady stream of sweat and possibly also tears, until I got out to the limo and said to Dad’s chauffeur, Charles, “ _drive_.”

“Your Highness, I’m under orders from Her Majesty the Queen not to drive you anywhere alone without your bodyguard,” he said.

 _Dammit,_ I had completely forgotten about Snake. Then I looked out the window and there he was, racing up the sidewalk with Dad.

“Come on, Charles, just this once?” I said. “Just drive me home! No one will mind! I’ll give you all my allowance!”

But by then, Dad and Snake had caught up to us.

“Congratulations on your first interview, Your Highness,” Snake said, getting into the limo. “...Says Emily. You stood up to Grell very admirably, considering the circumstances…says Wordsworth.”

“Ciel, I’m very proud of you,” said Dad. “It takes a lot of guts to defend yourself in public, especially on national TV. But son, why didn’t you tell me you and Darling Lizzy were an item?”

I choked back tears. “Because we’re not,” I said. “We never were, and now we probably never will be.”

“Oh, dear!” said Dad, putting an awkward arm around me. “My poor boy. Well, who knows? Maybe she likes you enough that she won’t care. Actually, she’ll probably think it’s funny! Charles, drive us to Ciel’s school. That Fandango night is going on, yes? You and Darling Lizzy can have a laugh over all this!”

“NO!” I screamed, squirming away from him. “No, no, no, NO! Absolutely not! Never! I’m never going back to school, not for the rest of my life!”

Just then the limo stopped short, causing us all to slide to the back (I guess that’s why they tell you to buckle up. Huh.) and Charles and Dad both shouted foul and bloody oaths while Snake just went, “AAAGH! …screams Goethe.”

I looked up to see that horrible _Sebastian_ had literally thrown himself at our windshield and was now dropping, weirdly gracefully, through the sunroof. God. Nothing even surprises me with that guy anymore, I swear.

“Your Royal Highness, Prince Ciel,” he said in the literal scariest voice I’ve ever heard. “You will attend the Flatfooted Fall Fandango if I have to shoot you there with a cannon. You have disappointed me enough tonight, what with your shouting and crying and spluttering on live television, not to mention the blatant lie you told about the nature of your relationship with Miss Elizabeth. I am not going to allow you to disgrace the great nation of Cattalia any further. Charles, _drive_.”

I didn’t try to argue after that. I was scared to, plus, I didn’t feel like it anymore. I figured, well, my life is over already, so may as well take it all the way to Bloody Corpse-Strewn Inferno status. So I just sat there in the back of the limo and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long! Here's two chapters as a reward for waiting :)


	10. Part 10

~Saturday, September 22, 7:12 a.m., Lizzy's room~

I had barely finished my last journal entry in the school bathroom when I heard Soma's voice: "Ciel? Snake said you were in here."

 _Dammit, Snake._ "Go away, Soma," I said. "I'm only here because Sebastian and my dad made me come."

"Ci- _elll!_ " he whined, joined by another voice I recognized as Macmillan's. God, can I  _never_ get any privacy??

Then a third voice, a girl's (I guess Snake doesn't realize this is a  _boys'_ bathroom?): "Ciel, you did a really good job tonight. I'm sorry I've been such a bad friend." It was Sieglinde.

"In my defense," she continued, "I was really stressed out at the time, between trying to get this school's administration to let non-gender-conforming students have their own bathroom, and trying to invent mechanical legs for myself so I won't have to worry about this stupid wheelchair anymore (I'm thinking, like, a spider kinda thing? It'll be awesome), and trying to get Wolfram to let me apply for this summer robotics program in Iceland-- _ow!_ Soma, what the crap! I was getting to it!--But anyway, none of that matters, because I was a totally awful friend to you, even though I know you needed friends more than ever during this time. So, if you want you can forgive me, or you can hate me forever, but either way you're going to have to come out of that stall at some point, because your supposed girlfriend's here.

**_WHAT!!!!!!!!_ **

I recognized Lizzy's shoes immediately--they were the same ones she'd tried on for me at the penthouse.

"Ciel?" she said. "I think we need to talk."

My heart was beating really fast by now, like it was screaming "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT."

"Uh, guys?" said Sieglinde. "I think that's our cue to leave." Macmillan and Soma murmured their assent, rather disappointedly I might add, and they all shuffled out of the bathroom.

"Lizzy, you don't know what it's like on TV," I said, a little louder than I meant to. "It was hot, and the audience was crazy, and Grell Sutcliff is  _super_ irritating, and I just didn't know what I was saying! I just wanted her to shut up! I swear, I'm really...really sorry."

She was silent for a second or two. "Oh," she finally said. "Okay. I mean, you don't have to apologize. I was just going to say that I didn't realize we were actually dating. Like, of course this dance is a date and stuff, but Sieglinde said you have really sever Gamophobia because of your grief combined with your natural standoffishness and introverted personality, so even though you obviously like me you probably wouldn't be ready to make things official at  _least_ until after college, and then-"

"Wait,  _what?_ " I said. "So Sieglinde isn't in love with me?!"

"What?! No!  _I'm_ in love with you!" she kind of squeaked. "Didn't you know those letters were from me?"

" _You?!_ You wrote those awful poems?"

"They  _weren't_ awful! Agni said they had  _class!_ " She stamped her foot, making a loud echo on the bathroom walls. " _And_ he put a special blessing on them from the love goddess Rati! So there!"

"Lizzy, if you liked me you could have just come out and  _told_ me!" I cried. "...Well, I guess I should have told you too. I've kind of liked you since we were little."

I expected her to make that high pitched "AWWWW!!!!" squeal that she does around cute animals and whenever literally anything happens on  _Miraculous Ladybug._ But instead she was just silent for a few seconds. Then she giggled.

"So are you ever going to come out of there?" she asked. "I'm tired of of dancing with Soma and Macmillan. Not that they aren't great, of course! But they're not, you know...you."

I sheepishly opened the stall door, and Lizzy hugged me. It was dreadfully tight like all her hugs--with those fencing muscles, I guess she can't really help it--but there was something different about it this time. A kind of tenderness, I guess? And I was finally able to sort of relax, and then my arms just automatically wrapped her body and my chin dropped onto her shoulder. And suddenly (wait for it) I guess I forgot I was a prince. I forgot about how puny and small I am, and how bad I am at maths, and how Sebastian's totally going to have it in for me at my next prince lesson.

I guess I'd thought I was in love with Lizzy before, but now I know I wasn't--not really. Because in that moment, in our high school bathroom of all places, I fell in love for real. And I knew by the way she kissed me just after that she had fallen in love, too.

...Anyway, the night went on. Eventually Cheslock and his whole gang came into the bathroom to laugh about how Clayton had tried to ask some girl to dance and ended up tripping and almost pulling her dress off, and of course Edward was with them, so he almost killed me when he saw me snogging his sister. But Lizzy and I went back out to the cafeteria, which was all decorated with this tacky and kind of racist "Fandango" paraphernalia, and we danced to the slow songs and I watched her try to dance to the fast ones, and then Soma and Macmillan and Sieglinde came over to try and get me to "tango," and somehow we all ended up in a pile on the floor with Mr. Spears yelling at us to knock it off. And the whole time Maurice Cole was just sulking in a corner because his beloved Edgar was hanging out with the other prefects instead of him. He was still all bruised up from Lizzy's attack. I took a mental picture and saved it for the next time I need a quick source of unbridled joy.

Then when the dance ended, none of us really felt leaving (even me! I know, I never thought I'd actually  _enjoy_ a school dance!), so Lizzy called her parents to ask if we could all come over and hang out. Miraculously, her dad was able to convince her mom, so all of us (plus Edward, Cheslock, Clayton and that Harcourt guy who I've always felt like deserves better friends) piled into the limo and went back to the Midfords' apartment.

And when all the others left, around three in the morning, Lizzy and I got into her big pink bed and turned on the TV, just like we've done so many nights before, except this time our arms were totally wrapped around each other and neither of us even cared what we were watching (I literally don't even remember what channel it was). Then suddenly it was 6:00 and I woke up, still leaning against Lizzy, with the sudden urge to write. It sounds stupid, I know, but I guess I was scared that if I didn't write down everything that happened, it would suddenly disappear. It all felt like just a really amazing dream, so I was worried that maybe it was. And yet here I am on Lizzy's window seat, with her TV still on and Edward snoring in the next room. To my left I can see the street below, colored a smoky teal from the rising sun, and to the right I see my beautiful girlfriend sleeping peacefully with her Bitter Rabbit, her makeup slightly smudged and her gorgeous hair splayed out in a thick halo. I think I want to get back in bed and hold her a bit more. I'm really tired, after all. It's been a crazy couple of weeks.


End file.
